


Butt Then

by distantstarlight



Series: 12 Lays of Christmas [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Christmas, First Time, Friends to Lovers, M/M, One-Shot, happy accident
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-25
Updated: 2017-12-25
Packaged: 2019-02-20 09:59:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,474
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13144284
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/distantstarlight/pseuds/distantstarlight
Summary: They were having a pleasant day together, that was all, when things became...pressing.





	Butt Then

The thing was, Sherlock was a twink-ish little tart, and John was an over-sexed trollop, but it was years before they both realized. Sherlock had sworn off his sexual escapades, mostly due to the fact that they’d gone hand in hand with his drug addiction, and John had hazily decided his days of endless random shags with anyone who wanted to share an orgasm were behind him, and that he needed to find a new way to live now that he wasn’t in the military anymore. John moved into 221 B Baker Street the day after meeting Sherlock. Soon after that, he killed a very bad cabbie to save his new flatmate. They had adventures, good times, and bad times. There was drama, suspense, and all the best qualities to make up a dynamic and very satisfying relationship…everything except sex.

Everyone assumed they were shagging when they weren’t. John now only slept with someone he’d gone out with _at least three times_ , determined to find a lifetime companion rather than just a fuck-buddy; Sherlock slept with no one. Everyone assumed they were a couple when they weren’t. John made hopeful dates with many types of women, but his life as an assistant-consulting-detective very often trumped his nights out, the result being that John almost never got to a third date scenario and ended up only having sex with himself; Sherlock was married to his work.

Everyone was shocked when John wed a woman and not Sherlock, especially after the rather dashing way the consulting detective had pretended to die in order to save John’s life, exiling himself for nearly three years before barely making it back to London, scarred, bleeding, and unstable. John stubbornly went through with it; Sherlock once again wordlessly declared his devotion by earnestly helping to make the wedding as good for John as he could. He couldn’t be blamed for the attempted murder, that had just been a happy surprise for Sherlock. No one was surprised when John ended up divorced and living back at Baker Street. Everyone could predict what would happen during the first Christmas the year John and Sherlock finally resumed living together. Even Mycroft carefully muted all local surveillance on his brother’s flat, not wishing to even accidentally participate in the union to come. Everyone else just sat back with their assorted snacks and waited for the fireworks to erupt.

“John, I would like some tea,” Sherlock was leaning over the table, carefully using a pipette to transfer samples of who-knew-what into Petri dishes. “If you have a minute.”

The polite after-comment was Sherlock’s new thing now that they were living together. Sherlock still made many demands of his flatmate but these days, they were always done in a mannerly way, and only ever for John. Everyone else was treated to the brusque unvarnished truth-speaker that Sherlock normally was, automatically forfeiting their rights to being treated cordially by dint of being _not-John_. Mrs Hudson didn’t count, as landlady and provider of endless pudding and other sundries, she was exempt from many of Sherlock’s more abrasive personal habits. It also meant that John was chuffed one-hundred percent of the time, and willingly performed whatever favour was asked. “Lemony or milky?”

“Milky.” Sherlock wanted tea that was creamy and rich, warm and sweet, and was of a hue to match one of John’s favourite Arran jumpers. He was happy and comfortable, happy to spend the day with his best friend, even though Mrs Hudson had decorated the flat for the season, causing their rooms to drip with garlands and glittery objects.

“Right.” John bustled in the kitchen, humming under his breath as he prepared their late afternoon snack. Sherlock wasn’t currently on a case, so John wanted to take advantage of his theoretical willingness to eat. He put together some dainty sandwiches, a skill his mother had long insisted on and plated some of the confections he’d collected from Mrs Hudson’s endless baking projects, including a small assortment of Sherlock’s favourite biscuits. He brewed their loose-leaf tea using the novelty diffusers that Sherlock had happened across at a village market during one of their out-of-town cases. It always made him smile to look at the Loch Ness monster in Sherlock’s cup and his eyes roll when he looked at the fish-shaped one his friend had chosen as John’s. John clearly recalled Sherlock’s _goldfish_ jibe at Mycroft and it always made him flush a little to secretly consider himself _already_ Sherlock’s.

All John needed was to fetch out the tray beneath the sink upon which to put their tea and snacks. Sherlock was just putting clear lids on each petri dish, extending himself to reach across the table just as John bent over. They had been back to back with plenty of room between them but as each man moved, a grand conjunction occurred, and their bottoms pressed hard against the other’s.

John froze and so did Sherlock. Their body heat made the contact very noticeable, and John noted that Sherlock’s arse was both firm and at the same time, gloriously soft. The angle and degree of each man’s body was such that they meet perfectly, crease to crease, cheek to cheek, and _other things_. John was pretty certain that his bollocks were separated by a minimum of three layers of fabric, four if Sherlock had worn pants today. Neither man moved even a tiny bit, there was no possible way to try and fob this contact off as an accidental brush inside close quarters because they were holding still enough to represent their country if a _holding still competition_ ever became an Olympic Event. John had exhaled at least a dozen times by now and all he could think of was that his genitals were closer to Sherlock’s genitals than he’d ever hoped they’d get.

Sherlock moved first. John had mostly expected him to move away, to distance his transport from John’s, but instead, the taller man pressed back with greater firmness and even rocked his hips a tiny bit so that everything slid together deliciously. “John?” He asked breathlessly.

John lifted his upper body but only enough to lean on the kitchen counter and brace himself on both hands. Sherlock hadn’t voiced his question really, but John’s answer was ready, “Yeah.”

Sherlock turned gracefully and pressed himself to John’s bottom again, rocking his quickly hardening cock over John’s arse purposefully. John found his backside being groped thoroughly, and he didn’t protest or struggle at all when Sherlock tugged down their trousers to expose them both. John did gasp however when the solid mass of Sherlock’s cock was released. It was massive. It lay heavy between his cheeks, along his coccyx, and lower back. Sherlock began to move with slow presses and slides, his long fingers caressing John’s hips. John felt his friend lean over further and sighed when Sherlock’s lips grazed against the shell of his ear, “Would you do this to me, John? I’d like it, very much in fact, if you would rub your cock all over my arse, and against my hole, just like I’m doing to you now.”

Sherlock fucked his monstrous cock between John’s arse cheeks for several seconds before he took the frighteningly wide head and rubbed it against John’s hole. “Right here, John, would you? I dream about how it would feel to have you here, and maybe, if you didn’t mind too much, inside?” Sherlock pressed gently, and John could almost tell how it would feel to do the same to Sherlock.

Sherlock sounded so timid, so hesitant. It made John’s chest feel funny that his brilliant and over-confident friend _might_ actually be the virgin he’d been labelled. _How vulnerable he must feel right now._ John turned around, allowing Sherlock’s huge cock rub against the flesh of his hip and belly. They were now face to face, their erections side by side. John’s looked pathetically small next to Sherlock’s but the look on Sherlock’s face made John think that perhaps his size wasn’t going to be an issue. His cock was a bit above average, and the thought of having it buried inside Sherlock’s work-of-art body was anything but objectionable. “Whenever you want, whatever you want, let me give that to you.”

Suddenly, they couldn’t be together fast enough. A trail of clothing followed them to Sherlock’s bedroom where they fell naked upon the duvet in a pile of soft-laughter and caresses. Sherlock touched John everywhere and gasped whenever John touched him in return. John absolutely loved the way it felt to kiss Sherlocks. He felt drugged and heavy-limbed with desire. He wanted to worship Sherlock, so he did, tasting his long pale body everywhere.

Sherlock made the most delicious sounds. His soft cries and groans made John’s cock hard and wet. John wanted to make all of Sherlock’s fantasies come true so he knelt behind the taller man and held his cock between the lush firm globes of Sherlock’s arse and fucked across his hole firmly. Sherlock trembled and sighed, pushing back eagerly as John stimulated him exactly the way he’d asked for. John pulled away suddenly, bending over and giving Sherlock’s arse a deep and intimate kiss. Sherlock’s disbelieving cry was accompanied by several spastic jerks of his large cock, and for a second John thought he’d made Sherlock come. He hadn’t but obviously, it had been a very close call. “I need to ride you.” Sherlock’s voice was completely wrecked. In a flurry of motion, John found himself being pushed onto his back as Sherlock straddled him so that his back was presented as well as his arse, “Finger me.”

John caught the bottle of lube that was suddenly tossed at him, and groaned when Sherlock leaned over, grasping his cheeks with his hands and spreading himself open in a blatant invitation. John complied, squeezing the thick paste-like lube over his fingertips and smearing it against that fluttering entrance. John pushed one entire finger inside and Sherlock just circled his hips sensuously as his back arched. He was needy and wanton. John couldn’t believe that this was the same man who had been systematically comparing two different human digestive tracts just yesterday. Sherlock slid his own fingers closer, rubbing his hole greedily, pushing at John’s hand to encourage him to go deeper, faster. “You’re just dying for it, aren’t you?”

“John, please, I want you desperately. Ever since you moved in with me I’ve dreamt of having your lovely perfect cock in me. I love being fucked fast and hard. I’ll ride you every single day, as many times as you want, John. You know I have no limits, no inhibitions; sex is no different. If you want me, I’m here to be taken. I’m clean, I’m skilled, and I’m only interested in you. Can I have you, John? Please?”

 _Twice. Sherlock had said please twice. He wanted John to fuck him hard, fast, and frequently._ There wasn’t a single objection in sight. “Oh fuck, yes.” He pressed the head of his leaking cock against Sherlock’s hungry hole. Sherlock’s entire body went rigid and he sat back with a long low cry, impaling himself with deliberate slowness until he had taken all John had to give, “You’re so tight.”

“It’s been such a long time, John, _years_.” Sherlock began to rock slowly, acclimating himself. Only a few minutes later, Sherlock pulled himself off and John panted with relief. He’d been so close to coming already. Sherlock gracefully turned around and repositioned John’s penis, sinking down slowly until his own cock was resting against John’s torso.

“The tip is on my nipple.” John marvelled at Sherlock’s size. “You are going to fuck me with that?”

“I really prefer to bottom John, but if you want me to, I could try.” Sherlock’s eyes were closed, and he was rubbing his fingers over his chest, “Honestly, I want your cock in me forever.” He looked rapturous, his body rise and falling at a hypnotic pace. John felt his cock drive into Sherlock’s eager body over and over again and he wanted forever as well.

“This is good. This is better than good, this is perfect.” John began to fuck upwards and Sherlock gave a needy cry one more time and began to ride John faster. John reached up and ran his hands over Sherlock’s long thick cock, stroking and teasing it with both hands, “You’re so bloody sexy.”

“John, yes, your cock is perfect, it’s…just…perfect, oh!” Sherlock rocked his hips back and forth rapidly and John felt the tip of his cock brush against Sherlock’s prostate repeatedly. Sherlock was almost whining with desire, so John began to stroke him with strong steady pulls. “Come in me, John!” Sherlock sounded frantic, “Please, I need it, I need you! John! John! John! You’re making me come, oh!”

“Sherlock!” John grunted out his name because Sherlock’s hole seemed to tighten around his shaft, milking the orgasm right out of him. He shot a fat stream of come deep inside Sherlock, his thrusts quickly becoming sticky and messy.

Sherlock stopped moving, his head hanging back, his chest thrust out, and his arms stretched out at his sides almost as if he were trying to fly. A series of small cries and a full body shudder announced the arrival of several thick hot pulses of semen. They landed on John’s neck and collarbone, covering his knuckles and fingers with warm slick. Sherlock sat where he was, his entire body trembling and quaking as if he were still orgasming. Several minutes later, he calmed enough to tip over, his muscles lax and unhelpful as he collapsed into a messy heap, “You are a genius.”

John’s eyes were closed but a smile still made his mouth quirk up at the corners. “I wish I had recorded that,” he said, “Who knows when you’ll call me that again?”

Sherlock weakly moved over until he was cuddling John, ignoring the mess of come and sweat, even when he lay his face on John’s chest and ended up squashing his cheek into a line of semen, “You’ll likely hear it frequently from now on, especially if you want to continue having sex with me.”

“I most certainly do, how could I possible want anyone else now that I’ve had the very best? Spoiled me, you have.” John was so satisfied now. His eyelids seemed to be made of lead because he didn’t have the strength to open them, “Sherlock?”

A buzzing snore answered him. Sherlock was completely unconscious, his thin arm holding John’s torso tight as he slept. John had never felt so good, so complete, and so utterly content. Whatever else they had to say to one another could wait until later. They had all the time in the world, after all. They had eternity.


End file.
